Chapter Text
During a raid, Hiccup’s first and Valka’s last, a Stormcutter walked (broke) into a house through a breach in its wall.
It had a very big room inside and in the centre there was a big log the vikings had cut and decorated. The two heads of a Hideous Zippleback were carved on it, their necks tangled.
The curious dragon looked closer and, inside the small basin, saw an even smaller human. It was messily wrapped in cloths, the job had probably been done nicely but the newborn had discarded it like hatchlings often do.
Newborn dragons would often bring damage to the nest one way or another. The dragon had seen and had its fair share of accidents. But humans can’t do normally do that until they can hold objects and move by themselves, the Stormcutter knew it was different for this one already.
Animals know and feel more than we know. Pets bark (or bleat or roar) at dangers their humans can’t see. They’re are great judges of character and act weird before a natural disaster, such as an earthquake.
Dragons are animals. Giant or little, firebreathing or acidspitting, definitely dangerous lizards. But animals nonetheless. And this peculiar quirk applies to them, too.
So, the Stormcutter tried to get closer than it already was, to touch the human and see. See if the feeling was right. See if such tragedy, sadness and resentment coming from this small human were real.
A red haired woman ran shouting into the house, holding a sword.
The dragon didn’t want to harm the little human, but it had seen many, way too many dragons get hurt by weapons just like the woman was holding. The dragon didn’t know the woman was the mother and only wanted to protect her child.
But thing don’t always go the way you’d want them to and for the little boy inside the crib that would never happen.
Things had gone wrong. The child, a baby, became the reason for the disappearance and presumed death of its mother. The father tried to stay strong for his son but the grief, his duties and the child himself made it impossible. And the child could do nothing about it.
In a few years the boy would recognize the pattern in his life. How everyone would find him guilty of things he had no control over or how the blame would become so comically big he’d think (hope) it was a joke, sometimes it was, sometimes it wasn’t.
He would mutter it under his breath sometimes (often), whenever it was proven true: “Anything that can go wrong, will”.